


Little Boy Lost

by BellaDuveen



Category: The Fast Show
Genre: Other
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-09-13
Updated: 2020-09-14
Packaged: 2021-03-06 16:47:21
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 2
Words: 1,541
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/26442190
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/BellaDuveen/pseuds/BellaDuveen
Summary: Ted remembers the little boy Ralph was, and how he changed growing up.
Comments: 6
Kudos: 6





	1. Flowers

Esther had once said she thought it so sad that there always seemed something lost about the young master as he grew up. Sadder still, thought Ted, to remember that it wasn’t always the case. 

September 1965

He could clearly remember the day old Lord and Lady Mayhew first brought him home. The staff, himself and Esther included, had been instructed to wait at the front of the house for their arrival, and as the vintage Jaguar crunched over the gravel, Ted and Esther shared a smile, almost as excited for this baby as they would be for their own – or so they thought. They didn’t know it yet, but Esther’s pregnancies would never last, and no children would play in the little cottage on the estate. Except one.

Lord Mayhew opened the car door for his wife, and then took the candy striped carrycot she had held on the back seat, all the way from the hospital, and walked towards the staff.

‘Ladies and gentlemen,’ he announced grandly, ‘my wife and I are pleased to introduce you to our son, Ralph Mayhew! I’m sure he’ll be a fine boy, and we are very proud.’

It was probably one of the last times Lord Mayhew said that, Ted considered, when talking about his son.

June 1970

‘What’re you doing?’ four year old Ralph asked, wandering out into the small formal garden at the back of the house.

‘Weeding the roses,’, a young Ted replied, only 25 himself. ‘Your mother likes them for her table – makes it look nice, but these here, see,’ he indicated the straggly weeds, ‘they’re no good for the table, are they now, so I’ve got to pull them up.’

‘Oh.’ Ralph thought for a moment. ‘But you said plants don’t grow if you pick them? Mummy says I shouldn’t pick flowers.’

‘Well now, that depends on the flower. Out in the meadow, there’s lots of flowers, and they grow again,’ Ted explained. ‘But don’t pick these – the stems are sharp, see?’

Ralph took a look. ‘Spiny!’ he said excitedly, remembering a word he’d heard on television describing a hedgehog. ‘Like hedgehogs!’ Then another thought came to mind.

‘Ted, can we pick some flowers for Mummy? In the meadow?’

Touched by the little boy’s enthusiasm, Ted smiled. ‘Yes, Master Ralph, we’ll go after lunch.’

Later that afternoon, Ralph came rushing in to the sitting room.

‘Mummy, mummy, look! Look what me and Ted found! They’re for you!’

Lady Mayhew stirred groggily. She’d had rather too many G&Ts the night before and wasn’t really up to dealing with her son today. Couldn’t Esther watch him for a bit?  
‘Ted and I, dear,’ she corrected him sleepily. ‘What are they?’

‘I know, ‘cause Ted told me!’ Ralph replied proudly. ‘Daisies, dandelions and red…campion!’ he finished, pleased to have remembered the one with the funny name.

Lady Mayhew cast a tired glance over them. They were crushed, and Ralph’s hands were covered in earth and grass stains.

‘Oh, they’re lovely, darling,’ she sighed. ‘Go down to the kitchen and give them to Esther though, they need water.’

Ralph nodded, but when he rushed back with the flowers in a mug, his mother had gone. She had one of her headaches, his Daddy said, which meant she wasn’t coming out, not until dinner at least. Disappointed, Ralph put the flowers on the windowsill in his room, guarded by a stuffed Womble.

‘Ralph!’ Lord Mayhew called later. ‘Dinner time!’ 

Ralph, who had been landing on the moon with his teddy bear, didn’t hear him at first, so Lord Mayhew stepped into his room.

‘Ralph, it’s dinner time…’ His eye was caught by the mug on the windowsill. ‘You should take that downstairs,’ he said, reaching over for it. ‘Give it to Esther.’

‘No, Daddy, that’s Mummy’s!’ Ralph protested. ‘Only she was poorly…’

‘Oh, I see.’ Lord Mayhew was temporarily at a loss. ‘Well, keep them in the kitchen anyway. Boys don’t have flowers,’ he added, picking up the mug and taking it down.

Following him, Ralph felt confused. Why couldn’t boys have flowers? He had been looking forward to telling his Mummy and Daddy all about how he’d picked them with Ted, and how nice the colours were, but now he wasn’t sure he should. Was it bad, for a boy to like flowers? Why?


	2. Boys Aren’t Fairy Godmother

April 1973

‘It was such a shame,’ Esther said that evening at dinner. ‘Little Ralph came home from school in tears, so he did.’

‘What happened?’ Ted asked, concerned.

‘Well,’ Esther began, ‘he came running up to me at the gate – you know how Mrs Mayhew goes into town on Fridays…’

Ted nodded. He did know. Some Fridays she wasn’t back until she fell out of the taxi that night. How her own husband could let her get in that state he didn’t know. It was nice that most days, Esther was there to pick the boy up from the little village school, which he seemed quite happy at, Ted thought, painting blobby pictures and making things out of toilet rolls and suchlike, and he’d even won a book voucher from his teacher, Miss Trent, at the end of term for a poem he’d written:

‘Cats’ by Ralph Mayhew age 7  
Furry fluffy friends  
With big ears and soft tails  
You sit by the fire  
Hour after hour  
And play with wool  
Sometimes your claws are scratchy  
But I don’t mind because you’re squishy

Not that his parents had made much of it. His mother had lost Ralph’s poem – buried somewhere under a pile of Harper’s Bazaar, Esther thought, and probably ended up on a bonfire. His father had grudgingly acknowledged that the spelling was good, and then muttered that he wanted Ralph to be out doing something, rather than sitting in reading books.

‘So, what happened?’ Ted repeated, looking at Esther.

‘It seems Ralph was playing with some of the girls, in the Wendy House, and one of them, Joan Taylor’s girl, Brenda, she fell out with her friend because she didn’t want to be the fairy godmother – they were playing Cinderella, see – and well, Ralph said he didn’t mind being the fairy godmother as well as the prince, and…it seems some of the boys heard him. They got quite nasty, I think, said Ralph shouldn’t be playing with girls, you know how they are…’

‘Seven years old!’ Ted said in disgust. ‘Does it matter?’

‘He even put on the witch’s hat and a dress… I didn’t mention that,’ Esther admitted. ‘Not to Mr Mayhew.’

‘No.’ Ted understood. ‘So,’ he asked, not sure he wanted to know, ‘what then?’

‘Mr Mayhew told Ralph to stop crying, that he wasn’t having him playing with girls again, and if the other boys picked on him it was his own fault. Said he had to toughen up - play football like everybody else.’

‘He likes a kick around with me,’ Ted replied sadly. ‘They’re rough though, I expect, the other lads. He won’t like playing with them.’

Not long after that, Ted noticed a brochure for a boys’ boarding school left on the sideboard when he came in to fix a dripping tap. Just before his eighth birthday, they’d be sending Ralph away.

August 1973

‘Ted!’ Ralph had raced all the way down to the Lower Field that day, a long run for a small boy, and part of the Estate he usually avoided, as it was notoriously boggy and he was generally rather fond of his shoes – always smart, ‘school shoes’, Ted would say, but Ralph seemed to like them – and almost knocked Ted over into the mud with a hug.

‘Master Ralph, whatever’s the matter?’ Ted asked, shocked. His first thought was that Lady Mayhew couldn’t get up, or had fallen with a glass in her hand.

‘I don’t want to go!’ the little boy cried. ‘Please don’t let them make me go! I want to stay here, with you, and Mrs Ted and Miss Trent!’

‘Master Ralph,’ Ted sighed, and knelt down to face him. ‘I can’t. Me and Mrs Ted can’t tell your mother and father what to do now, although we’d sooner you stayed, too.’ He looked at Ralph, so young to be away from home, strawberry blond hair kept rather shorter than most young lads these days, checked shirt over shorts, shoes uncharacteristically muddy, eyes red and cheeks wet.

‘But we’ll be here, you know, me and Mrs Ted…’

‘Forever?’ asked Ralph, burying his head in Ted’s jumper. ‘Forever and ever? Don’t go, please don’t go…’

That evening was the only time Lord Mayhew ever allowed Ralph to have dinner at Ted and Esther’s cottage, and afterwards they’d watched television together, and then played board games until Ted had to bring him home.

He’d laughed, and smiled, and for those few hours, forgot his troubles. Ted wished they could do more – and that he could give his employer a piece of his mind. His own parents hadn’t had much, but they’d never have sent any of their children to be raised by someone else, which is what boarding school was really, wasn’t it? 

Ted couldn’t understand. Didn’t Mr and Mrs Mayhew realise how lucky they were, to have a boy like him?


End file.
